Misplaced (Was-related short story) - Part 2
Here's the second part, because the whole story is a little too long for poor LJ to handle, and I didn't want it to be truncated just anywhere.
And isn't Chandler just cute? Haha.
MISPLACED (part 2)
Read part 1 here
I can’t smile anymore!
The overwhelming, vivid feeling of sadness and helplessness was so strong that it jerked him awake, eyes wide open on the eerie darkness. For a moment, his gaze kept darting right and left, searching for the old photographs, until he realized at last that he was in his room in his parents’ home, curled up on himself on his bed, with tears in his eyes and a cry stuck in his throat. He didn’t remember falling asleep, nor even undressing, which probably accounted for the fact that he was lying in his clothes on the tangled sheets.
A dream. Yes. That was just a dream. A bloody fucked-up dream. It’s not true. It can’t be true. It can’t happen. I don’t want it to happen. I don’t want that. I can’t take it. I couldn’t smile. I can’t smile. I want to smile. I have to smile!
Then it hit him full force:
I hate it.
I hate that house. I hate that room. I hate that name they gave me. I hate the Book. I hate their stares. I hate their magick and their rituals and their spells and all that shit they want me to learn. I hate the Order. I hate their mages. I hate their theories and their tools. I hate everything about them.
Hate. Hate hate hate hate hate. HATE!
The cry was still here, a cry he was unable to let out, for it would have woken his parents up, would have cast light on him. With a stifled moan, his hand clasped to his mouth, Clarence did not think any longer, hurled himself away from his bed, out in the corridor, then into the bathroom. No sooner had he closed the door than he fell on his knees in front of the toilet bowl and proceeded to throw up-he did not know what, he hadn’t eaten anything in so many hours now, but the spasms were raking his stomach all the same, so strong, so painful. A faint thought came to him-I hope they won't hear me-then vanished as sobs started to shake his body as well, leaving him weak and panting, half collapsed against the cold white enamel. That wasn’t just a dream. It was his worst fears come true, the annihilation of who he was, of his mind, of his own fragile hopes.
Being accepted-means disappearing.
Being myself-is to be rejected.
Being accepted-means losing my smile.
But... but... I don’t want that.
I want to smile. I want to look back on my life and think “that was a nice ride”!
I want to smile!
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, his head between his hands, sitting on the hard tiled floor and rocking back and forth like a young child. Silent tears kept running down his cheeks, unable as he was to stop them, to prevent terror from swallowing him up. There was no way out. That place, that family, that future his father wanted for him, were going to destroy him, to turn him into that sad old man who would one day look at the many pictures of his life and wonder what had been the point, or if there had ever been any to start with.
A grey dawn was already colouring the outline of London’s roofs when Clarence managed to get back on his feet at last, flush out the toilet, and walk back to his room, as silent as a ghost. That’s enough. I can’t do it. I knew it already. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m tired. I-I have to get away from here. I don’t care if it means sleeping in the street again. I don’t care. I can’t stay here. I can’t live like that.
“Clare?”
His thoughts had been whirling in a loop for quite some time when he snapped out of them at last at the sound of Chandler’s whispering voice. The young man noticed that he was kneeling on the floor in his room, a jacket already on his back, cramming clean clothes in his dirty backpack much like he had done less than two weeks ago. That gesture was starting to become quite familiar, wasn’t it?
“What are you doing?”
With a sigh, he slowly turned to his brother, who was staring at him from the doorstep with sleepy eyes; maybe he hadn’t closed the door completely, maybe his earlier trip to the bathroom had woken the boy, maybe-it didn’t matter. For a second, he considered waving him out, telling him to go back to his own room, or to hell, or to wherever else, but that would do him no good. Chandler might just run to their parents’ room in turn. Besides, now that he thought about it, he didn’t really know himself what he was doing.
“Come in. And close that door.” He kept his own voice to a low whisper, hoping his brother would pick up the hint, which he did. Only nodding once as an answer, Chandler obeyed, then came to sit next to him on the rug.
“You’re going away again, Clare.”
“Yeah. Seems so.”
“But you’ve only been back one night!”
“I know.”
“Don’t. Please. Don’t go away.”
Their gazes met, and Clarence saw the tears in his brother’s dark eyes, behind the thick glasses without which the boy couldn’t even see his own feet. They didn’t look like each other at all, really. Glasses put aside, Chan was a younger picture of their father, with the same slick brown hair, square jaw line and thin nose; unlike Arthur Riddle, though, he had no ambition of one day holding an important position in the Order-but maybe that had to do with the fact that he was only twelve and a half, too.
“Don’t go, Clare. Please,” Chandler repeated, getting closer to put his arms around his brother’s neck.
“Aw, come on, you big baby.”
“Please. Stay with us.”
The boy was crying for real now, his sobs only muffled because he had buried his face against Clarence’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“Please...”
“I’m really sorry. I just-can’t do that.”
“But Daddy was so angry!”
“I know. And I’m probably going to take piss in a couple of hours if I don’t go now.”
“But I don’t want you to go away! I missed you!”
The young man felt a sad little smile spread on his lips-well, that was a smile, at least, even if not the one he had wished for. Chandler would be the only one he’d truly miss as well, the only one who had expressed awe at what he could do with his calculator, the only one who had ever believed in him and in his abilities, not caring the least bit about whether they were techno-magic or proper spells.
“Want to know a secret, Chan?” he asked, reciprocating his brother’s warm embrace.
“Wh-what?”
“I missed you too. And I’m going to miss you again, for sure.”
“Then don’t go!”
“Chan. Look at me.”
“Dont’ go!”
“Look at me, please.”
The boy obeyed at last. Watch me. Look at me. Look at who I am. Can you see me? The real me? Can you see the person, and not only the image our parents have formed of me?
“Tell me. Tell me what you see.”
“Clare?”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. Just tell me.”
“I-I see you?”
“And?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who am I, Chandler? Please. Tell me what you see. Tell me who I am. Because I don’t know anymore.”
Clarence watched him furrow his brow, trying to make sense of those strange words. His own smile had already vanished, replaced by what he feared was the same expression of anguish he had wore in the police car, the previous evening, as the dreadful prospect of facing Arthur once again had loomed nearer and nearer.
“You’re my brother, of course,” Chandler answered at last, still in a whisper, perplexity all over his features.
“Yeah. That’s a start, I suppose.”
“Clare, are you really going away?”
The young man cast a quick glance at his bag already packed, and sighed again:
“I... I don’t know. I feel I have to. I can’t... Oh, no, please, don’t start crying again, you’re gonna wake them up and-”
“And then you won’t go!”
“No, Chan... Please. Stop, now!”
“Promise you won’t go!”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then I’m going to tell Daddy.”
“No! You can’t!”
“Yes, I can! And I will! Because it’s awful when you’re not here! It’s even worse than usual!”
Clarence froze, his hand on his brother’s wrist to prevent him from getting up and running to their parents. What the hell? Did he really say that? Did he? Did he did he did he?
“So that’s why you want me to stay, huh? So that you and Christina can be left alone while I take all the piss!”
“No! I want you to stay because you’re my brother and you belong here! That’s why!”
“Oh come on, you don’t care, do you? You don’t care about me. You don’t care that he treats me like shit.”
“That’s not true!”
“The hell with you! I can’t take it anymore, can’t you see that? Can’t you see how he scares the shit out of me? I’m fucking tired of being treated like this! Come on! Can’t you see that I’m fucking dying in here? I don’t belong here at all!”
As soon as he had let these words out, he knew he had raised his voice, committed that terrible mistake. Immediately, he fell silent, motioned to his brother to stop talking too, and perhaps there was something peculiar on his face at that moment, for Chandler remained where he was, his mouth agape, unable to voice out what he had wanted to retort. Clarence closed his eyes for a few seconds, aware of the noise in their parents’ room. He had to run away, right now, or it would be too late. He had to grab his bag, push his brother away, get out of the house, step out using the window-sill, whatever-but to get away, once and for all, because when Arthur would find out, then it would be the worst, it would be a hell he had never known yet, and the fear would swallow him whole, prevent him from standing up.
Shit. Shit shit shitshitshit.
Get up. Get up! Now!
His legs wouldn’t obey, though. He remained where he was, unable to move, looking at his trembling hands, all too conscious of a door opening, of the light being switched on in the corridor, of footsteps, and then of his own door creaking, letting in that flow of light as well Arthur’s shadow.
“What on Earth is that din? And at five in the morning at that?”
Chandler, please. Don’t tell. Don’t tell.
“Daddy, Clarence says he wants to go away again! Tell him he has to stay here-please,” he hastily added. “Tell him, Daddy!”
...Shit.
“Really?”
He knew that cold edge in his father’s voice. That was anger, anger of the worst kind, anger that would paralyze him for days, turn him into an obedient boy who wouldn’t dare speak up anymore, withering under a single stare. He kept staring at his hands, at his knees, at the rug of his bedroom, at the long shadow invading it. He couldn’t look at his father. He couldn’t stand up. He couldn’t resist.
“I see you haven’t been reflecting on your behaviour, Clarence.”
Arthur Riddle stepped into the room at last. No matter that he was in his pyjamas, he was just as hieratic and imposing as ever, his wiry silhouette a pillar of inner strength and determination. The young man closed his eyes again, biting his lower lip to the blood, not realizing that he had clenched his fists and was waiting for a slap or, worse, for reproaches and belittling words.
“Your mother had persuaded me to wait until this morning to have a good talk with you. Well, it seems we need to have it now. So. Is it true? Do you really want to go away?”
He remained silent, his mouth filled with the iron taste of his own blood. His voice wouldn’t get out.
I can’t. I knew it. I can’t do anything when he’s here. When he’s speaking to me. I’m scared. I’m scared. He’s going to put me down again. He’s going to say in such precise words what a failure I am, and how ashamed of me he is. I don’t want to hear this. He’s going to tear me apart. I’m shit. I don’t deserve to be called a Riddle. I shouldn’t even be born in this family. I don’t deserve it. I’m shit. I’m not worth his praise. I’ve never been. I’ll never be. He’ll never acknowledge me. I’ve always known it. What was I expecting? I’m shit.
“I’m waiting for your answer. Is it true?”
Clarence gave a start. His throat felt parched, so constricted by fear that it hurt, that just swallowing was pain in itself. I have to speak up. Speak up, you idiot! Speak up. Tell him. Tell him!
“Well, since you’re not saying anything, it must mean you weren’t serious about that, were you? And so you woke up the whole household on a mere whim, didn’t you?”
Speak up. Speak up. I must. I must tell him. I must. I never said anything. I never raised my voice. I was always nice and obedient. I always tried hard. I always did my best. I only wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to-
Don’t. Don’t think it! Don’t-
I only wanted my father to love me for who I was. But this won’t happen. This will never happen. Because I’m shit. I’m not the son he wanted to have. I’m a failure.
Something deep inside him broke and shattered, just like the glass of the pictures in his nightmare. For a second, Clarence thought he was going to burst into tears, but then nothing happened. There were no tears to be shed. He had known that for a long time already; this was just the logical conclusion.
“I... I...”
“Ah, so you do have a voice. Well. I’m still waiting.”
I have to tell him. I have to!
“I... I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“Do what? Explain yourself.”
“Everything. All of this. The Book. The apprenticeship. I don’t want it anymore.”
His words sounded weird to his ears, uttered in a quivering voice that wasn’t like his usual one. Without even noticing, he had grabbed one of his bag’s straps in his hand, squeezing hard, in an attempt to find in himself enough courage to talk. On his desk, the dark shape of the Book seemed to taunt him, make fun of him, point at all his deficiencies, at everything his father wanted him to do, and that he would never be able to achieve no matter his efforts.
“Well. Does this mean you want to give up?”
“I’m-I’m not giving up on anything. I’m just saying I-I want to do it my way. N-not yours.”
“There is only one way, Clarence, and it’s the Order’s. It’s the way the Riddles have been pursuing for generations. Are you saying you’re rejecting this?”
“It’s not my way. I tried. I couldn’t do it. But-but I can do magick differently!”
“Are you rejecting our way?”
“I’m just saying it’s not mine, that’s al-”
“Because if you’re rejecting it, then you’re clearly not one of us.”
For the whole conversation, Clarence hadn’t looked up once, hadn’t dared meet his father’s eyes, knowing full well that were he to do so, the little courage he had mustered would desert him. Something in Arthur’s voice decided him to raise his head nonetheless. The gaze he faced was utterly cold, putting him at such a distance that he suddenly felt that he was not standing in his room, but far, far away from the Riddles’ house, estranged from it not only in feeling, but also in space.
“I’m not saying it’s bad, Daddy! Just that it’s not-”
“What you’re saying, Clarence, is that you don’t want to be part of us.”
“...Why does it always have to be about that!”
“I’ll be honest with you. I’m growing really tired of your ill will and of your rebellious attitude. This must stop, and it’s going to stop right now.”
“Ill will? I busted my ass off on this fucking Book for three years, and you call that ill will?”
“The mere fact that you ran away once again shows how little our family matters to you.”
“I ran away because-because-”
“Because you’re weak. Because you’re still too young to understand. I’ve been patient with you, Clarence, very patient. I’ve been willing to give you time. But you’re clearly not even trying.”
“I am trying! I tried! I still am! Why don’t you see it’s just not working for me?”
“Just try harder, then. Or go away for good.”
The young man was about to retort, when this last sentence cut him short, filling him with apprehension, sending a cold shiver down his spine.
“...What?”
“You heard me right. If you can’t accept our guidance, then go away.”
Now that’s something new...
“I thought you were angry because I ran away...”
“Indeed, I was. But you’ve been nothing but trouble for the past three years. So I’m going to present you with a choice.”
“A choice?”
“Beware, though, that I’ll only offer it once. After that, it’s over.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“Apologize. Right now. Apologize for your misconduct and for your poor work, and start studying seriously, so that I can introduce you formerly to the Order when you turn sixteen.”
...What?
Why should I apologize? I haven’t done anything wrong!
Why should I apologize, when I’m the one who’re so unhappy!
“You... You want me to...”
“Have you grown deaf on top of behaving like an idiot? If you apologize sincerely, I may consider chalking all of this up to your fears and weaknesses, and let you start over.”
“If... If I apologize...” He had to pause for a second to swallow, before being able to go on: “If... Well... Does it mean you’ll go on teaching me?”
“Of course I will. I won’t let you turn into anything else than a respectable member of the Order. Although it will probably take more than just a few years, in your case. You clearly have to put much more effort in it than you’ve done so far.”
“And... if I don’t?”
“Then I don’t want to see your face ever again.”
There was a heavy silence pregnant with tension and hostility.
I can’t believe it.
Is my father supposed to tell me something like this?
“...You’ll let me go, then?”
“Let you go? No, Clarence. I will personally throw you out of this house, and make sure that you never set foot in it, nor see any member of this family again. Actually, I’ll make sure your name won’t sully our Family Tree any longer. If you want to go away so badly, then you’re on your own for good. I will do what it takes to remove you from my custody.”
“That’s-”
“You’ve got one hour to decide. I’ll be waiting in my study.”
As if the whole scene was just but a continuation of his nightmare, he watched helplessly as his father turned his back on him to walk out of the room, ordering away Chandler, who was still looking at them from the doorstep. A muffled voice rose a few seconds later-probably his mother’s, from his parents’ bedroom, asking what had just happened. He didn’t hear Arthur’s answer; maybe there hadn’t been any.
Clarence remained on his knees for a long moment, a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Now he had done it. Now he had really angered Arthur Riddle, to the point of being given an ultimatum. If he thought he had known fear before, it was nothing compared to what was growing in him now.
He won’t do that. He won’t.
Really?
He can’t just erase me from the Family Tree.
That’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong!
No. He’s Arthur Riddle. He can do anything he likes in this family. Nobody will dare stand up to him.
The Family Tree. The one that had been in the house for ages, property of Arthur’s father, and of his own father before that, and of their whole line of male ancestors. The old tapestry hung in Arthur’s office, carefully shielded from the eyes of those who weren’t privy to the secrets of magic, yet there to display to their less mundane friends, colleagues and acquaintances. That thing should have fallen prey to mould a long time ago, were it not for the heavy layers of spells that maintained it in its never changing state. At a simple Word from the current family’s head, it mirrored every wedding and every birth, adding people to the Tree, and it didn’t seem that space would ever be constrained on that piece of cloth, even though the main branch of the Riddles went back to the Norman conquest. Yet with a simple Word, too, Arthur could remove someone from it, severing his or her bond with the family on the level of enchanted ties. That powerful symbol of authority had prevented more than one member from voicing out criticism and concerns, for being deleted from the Tree also meant not getting any support from any of the other Riddles. It was like being branded a traitor, cast off as the proverbial black sheep, utterly and forever rejected.
He won’t! He won’t dare! He can’t do that! I’m his son, dammit! He can’t do that!
...No. He may very well do it. He’s really furious now. He will do it.
Mummy won’t let him. Will she?
He won’t do it. He’s bluffing. He wants to scare me.
But what if he’s serious about it?
Do I really have a choice here?
This was indeed a nightmare, and now he couldn’t stop his thoughts from dancing a mad ballet in his mind put to agony.
I want to go away, but... but... can I pay such a price?
But if I stay, I won’t be able to smile. I’ll lose my smile. I can already feel it disappearing. How long since I haven’t really laughed? You can’t laugh in here. It’s not proper. You can’t.
Will he do it?
He won’t. It’s all a bluff.
Oh, no, it’s not. I know him. He’s really able to do that to me.
So this means I have to stay...
Shit, why does it hurt so much? Why is it so hard?
Clarence took a deep breath, buried his face in his hands, then breathed out, slowly, in an attempt to calm down. Images from his dream were coming back to haunt him-the many frames; his own old, wrinkled, tired face; the fact that nobody on those pictures was smiling-and they just made it harder to focus.
If I go, then I’ll be-nothing. Nothing at all.
Another deep breath. Arthur Riddle was probably on his way to his study, now, having gotten dressed in the meantime. On his way, or maybe already waiting for him?
If I stay, I’ll just rot and die inside. I’ll turn into... into...
...into my father, who never smiles either...
Soon, Clarence would have to face him, and there was no way he could escape that. So he had to keep a clear mind. He couldn’t let fear only dictate his moves nor his decision.
He thought of Arthur’s study and of the huge tapestry hanging from its eastern wall, so large now that it covered the latter’s surface almost completely these days. When he was younger, he had always wondered what were those black spots at the ends of some of the Tree’s branches; his father wouldn’t answer, and his mother had made it clear that those were names that mustn’t be spoken of. At the time, there were only two boys at the end of their own side of the Tree-that was where he had learnt to read his own name as well as Chandler’s. Then Christina was born, and all of a sudden, her name appeared on the fabric as well. Only much later did he understand what the black burns meant. Only now did he realize that soon, his own branch might be crossed out as well.
Will he forbid Chandler to see me?
Actually, will Chandler forget about me, if my Name vanishes from the cloth?
And if I leave, I... I’ll never have anywhere to go back to...
It was a little over six o’clock when Clarence managed to get back on his feet at last, so weak at the knees, though, that he had to lean on the corner of his desk to steady himself before taking a step towards the door. Worry and conflicting thoughts had only made his queasiness worse; he hadn’t let go of his bag, clutching at it to give himself enough resolve to face what was about to happen. The lump in his throat kept on growing as he hobbled down the stairs on his way to his father’s study. Now he knew that whatever he chose, he would come to regret it soon.
The young man knocked at the door, then pushed it open. Arthur was waiting for him, as expected, sitting at his dark heavy desk, his back to the large tapestry. The suit he had donned was of light grey cotton and linen, its colour adding to the overall aloof attitude of its wearer. His eyes were cold and harsh; his narrow face expressed nothing but the uttermost contempt. Immediately, Clarence felt as if he was six years old again, and about to be scolded for some mischief.
I can’t. It’s just as usual. I can’t. I can’t speak to him. I’m scared.
“Close that door.”
He obeyed without a word. All his determination, all the strength he had managed to gather, were already crumbling down. Arthur didn’t offer him a seat, didn’t allow him to do anything but stand in front of the desk, waiting for judgment to be passed on him.
“I gather you’ve thought about it.”
“Y-yes, I have.”
“I gather you’ve realized by now where your interests lie.”
He only lowered his head, unable to answer anything for now. If this goes on, I’m going to throw up.
“Fine. You’ve come to your senses at last. The Masters of the Art will want to see you in September, to assess your progress. Unfortunately, it won’t be much, but I can’t delay that more. It’s three years already you’ve started training. So I’ll have you study as much as possible in the upcoming weeks.”
“Daddy-”
“Don’t you dare interrupt me. Starting from today, I want you to revise the contents of the whole Book, and work on first level Naming rituals until you manage to perform three of them. You’ll spend the whole night on it if needed. I won’t let you idle about.”
Oh God. I can’t. This is too hard.
He closed his eyes, not listening anymore. He already knew this by heart anyway. How much of a failure he was. How he ought to be ashamed of his poor results, whereas Chandler, who was barely awakened to the Power, could already complete part of the very first Naming Chants. How insignificant his efforts, how little he worked, his mind busy with technological trifles that had no place in the family, and by the way, getting a computer was absolutely out of the question, he would have to perform his school work the traditional way, too.
“... And so, I expect you’re ready to apologize now.”
“What?”
That last sentence caused something to flare up in him, all of a sudden, and brought him back to reality.
“Don’t tell me that you weren’t listening? This is wrong, Clarence. Clearly, you can’t have been thinking enough, if you’re already taking such a bad start.”
“Hey, Daddy...”
What was it? What was the name of that feeling? It wasn’t fear. It was something else altogether.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop. Interrupting. Me.”
“Daddy, don’t you think you’re the one who’s wrong?”
Hey! What am I doing?
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t you think you’re the one who should apologize?”
The young man saw Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly-he saw it quite well, for he was staring at him now, his hands clenched again in trembling fists. He remembered. That wasn’t fear anymore. That was anger. Anger he hadn’t felt in a long time. Anger so strong that it was sweeping away all reason, all sense of caution. Yes. He too was capable of anger.
“That’s enough. You-”
“Because I don’t think I deserve to be talked to like this, you see. I don’t think I deserve being called a disappointment and a failure by a man who can’t even treat his own children properly.”
Oh shit. What am I saying? What am I doing?
He’s going to-
No. No, it’s fine. I’ve wanted to say that to him for ages. I might as well finish now.
“Clarence Ewan Riddle! Don’t you dare speaking-”
“Oh yes, I dare!”
And before he knew it, he had already slammed his fist onto the desk, really sustaining his father’s gaze for the first time in his life. It was too late anyway. Now wasn’t even the point of turning back; that point had been reached long ago, at a moment when he hadn’t even noticed it, but that had kept poisoning him since then.
“You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted to speak. You don’t know how much I hate you, and that fucking house, and everything about you and the fucking Order! What kind of shitty father tells his kid that he’s useless anyway? Only a fucking moron would stand that, right? Would you stand it? Would you?”
With each sentence, we each question, he kept on pounding the wooden desk, not caring anymore about the consequences, not even paying attention the the pain that flared in his hand and wrist each time. It’s too late. It has always been too late. Why should I care about not being able to come back? It’s not like I’m really wanted here anyway. It’s not like he wants me. He only wants some perfect son he can flaunt to his colleagues. And I’m clearly not the one!
Arthur got up at last from his armchair, in a slow, dignified move. Oh yes, that’s true. He won’t stoop down to actually showing any feeling. Especially not to me. Hey, Daddy, look! I’m almost as tall as you now. You’re not so big and mighty, after all. It’s just that I’ve always kept my eyes down.
“This is absolutely unacceptable. I won’t let you spout such obscenities any longer. Not as long as you’re under my roof.”
“Then you’re going to be relieved, because I’ve made my decision, and I’m out of here!”
Yes. That’s it. I’m not a child anymore. I’ll be sixteen in September. I guess I can find work. I’ve seen quite some places when I was on the street. Maybe at Camden Town? I’m sure I can find something. It’s okay. I’ll be alright. If he really throws me out, I can do it. I’ve already picked a few tricks. I can do it. Everything will be fine. Since I’ll be able to smile again.
“Did I hear you right?”
“Sure you did. Wasn’t it part of that fucking choice of yours? Come on, face it. You don’t want me here. Even right now, I can see I’m an eyesore to you.”
“I remember telling you it was a one-time choice only.”
“Yeah. I’m not so stupid that I didn’t get that part, you know.”
They kept staring at each other. How odd. He was still afraid, but fear wouldn’t paralyze him anymore now. For the first time in his life, he had dared speak up, and the world hadn’t crumbled around him to bury him immediately. Arthur would get rid of him-that was fine. He would be alone, without any place to go to-that was fine as well: wasn’t he the one who had wanted out anyway?
For the first time, too-perhaps because this specific situation had never arisen before-Clarence realised that he wasn’t the only one to be afraid of this confrontation’s outcome.
Actually, he had never considered that choice.
He thought I’d cower and meekly apologize.
He thought I’d abide to all his demands without a word.
And now he can’t back out of it anymore!
However, neither could he.
If I give in... if I show him how frightened I really am... then it’s over. I’ll never be free. I’ll never be able to-to live a life of my own.
Hey, Daddy, is that what you truly expected? So that you could throw me out without feeling guilty? Or did you hope that I’d just be my usual coward self?
So I really can’t step back now.
None of us can.
His decision made and settled, Clarence spoke again:
“Do it. Burn my name on the tapestry. I don’t care anymore. I was never a true Riddle to start with.”
“Clarence-”
“Don’t call me by this name. You can take it back. I don’t want it anymore. It sucks balls. You should’ve thought twice before naming me. Same goes for Chandler, by the way. So. Why aren’t you doing it? Why is my name still there?”
“Get out of here. Pack your bag and get out, or I’ll make you.”
“Oh, don’t bother throwing me out. I’ll go by myself. It’s my choice, right?”
“You shall not get anything from us any more. Do you understand that?”
“Sure. Didn’t I tell you I’m not such an idiot?”
“No money. No support. No food. Nothing! And as soon as you’re out, I’m phoning Trelawney and Fogg to have you formerly emancipated in court. I don’t care what it takes, but I shall have nothing to do with you anymore, officially as well as officiously. Is that clear?”
“Cristal clear. Bye, then.”
I’m not backing off. I’m not giving you that pleasure. Take your fucking family pride and shove it where the sun never shines, and go to fucking hell, while you’re at it.
The young man swung his bag over his shoulder, turned on his heels, and walked out of his father’s study with his head held high, although his hands were shaking in both fear and excitement. No sooner had he crossed the threshold that his mind went into wild circles again, thoughts spiralling and crashing one into the other. Oh shit. Oh shitohshit. I did it. I’m crazy. Bloody crazy. I shouldn’t have done it. No, that was the right decision. It’s best. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. I want out. I need out. I don’t want to go on rotting in here. I want out!
He didn’t even remember what he had already packed, but it didn’t matter now, because he was not climbing back the stairs to his room to check. What mattered was already in it, anyway-his calculator, of most things, the one tool he knew he could use well to perform magick. As he was passing by the kitchen’s door, he realized that he hadn’t any money left in his wallet, that he wouldn’t be able to afford food, and that he still hadn’t eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours-yet even that didn’t matter for now. What fueled him and his resolve was anger. The rest wasn’t important anymore.
He only paused for a minute to grab a pair of shoes and tie them. Arthur hadn’t followed him; probably he would only brief the rest of the family after his elder son had gone out for good. Fuck. I should’ve said goodbye to Chandler, at least. That sucks. I’m sorry, Chan. I just hope they won’t tell you any lies about me.
He unlocked the entrance door, turned the knob to open it on the front garden. It would be one of those mild-weathered July days, warm and nice overall, yet sometimes cloudy with a chance of rain. Would any of the neighbours see him walk down the street? Would they whisper in his parents’ back in turn, shake their heads in contempt, typical, typical, you’d think that family was perfect, yet look at what delinquent they were harbouring under their roof...
Well, why do I care? I’m not one of them anymore.
The young man walked down the few stone steps leading to the pathway, and from there to the wrought-iron gate. There still wasn’t any noise behind him. His father wouldn’t even bother seeing him off, indeed. Nor would his mother. Christina might be still asleep, and Chandler too frightened of their parents to dare do anything. Fine. It was a new start of sorts. Now he was on his own. Now he was free.
“Clare!Wait!”
He froze for a second, then half turned towards the door again. There was Chandler, his cheeks wet with tears, running barefoot down the stairs too, to catch up to him.
“Y-you’re really going away, then?” the boy whispered between two sobs, when at last they were face to face.
“As you can see.”
“I-I heard you. From the corridor. When you were w-with D-daddy.”
“Don’t let him find you here, or-”
“Clare, y-you’ll never come back, right? I-I’ll never see you again...”
He could only shake his head. Being able to talk to Chandler one last time made him feel better, yet at the same time, it also hurt. It would only erode his resolve, while comforting him in the certainty that there was no way back, no more time to be spent with him. They had had their disagreements, like all brothers, and he had played his share of tricks on the boy-that time he had put snow inside Chandler’s shirt in winter in the schoolyard, or the day they had sneaked together in the basement to find out if there really were secret passageways, and he had let him locked in a closet for half an hour while making him believe it was magick... But all in all, it had been nice. Chandler had been the only one in their family who made him smile, during those past few months.
Shit. If I keep staring at him, I’ll just bawl my eyes out, too.
So Clarence leant towards him and hugged him strongly, briefly, just once-also to give himself the few seconds he needed to swallow back his own tears.
“I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sorry.”
“I promise, Clare. When I’m grown up. When I can do what I want. I’ll come looking for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
“I promise! I won’t forget about you.”
He couldn’t help but smile, if only for a second. Their father would never allow it, but letting his brother dream about that couldn’t do any harm, could it?
“Fine, fine. You find me. I’m sure I’ll be around... somehow.”
“Promise?”
“Go, now. Go back home, before he comes looking for you.”
“T-then take this.”
He felt Chandler slide something in his hand. A crumpled bank note-probably from his brother’s pocket money.
“Chan, I can’t-”
“Take it. Y-you don’t have anything, right? Take it. I-It’s not much, but you d-don’t have anything at all now... right?”
Before he could do or say anything, the boy had torn himself away from their embrace, to run back towards the door, towards the house, towards their father who might be approaching in order to make sure that black sheep of a discarded son had indeed gone away for good.
For a minute or so, Clarence stood where he was, unable to move-neither to go back nor go forward. That hurt. That really, bloody hurt. The note felt like fire in his palm, but he could not push himself to throw it away. Chandler was right. He didn’t have anything at all, and he had eaten so little in the past days that if he wasn’t careful, he’d start feeling dizzy pretty soon, maybe even collapse. He couldn’t afford that, not now, not when he had to go on no matter what.
“Fine. Fine,” he muttered, for himself mostly, since no one else was there to hear him. “The day we’re both adults. I’ll make sure I’m still around. That’s a promise.”
With a sigh, Clarence Riddle turned on his heels, resuming his walk, and pushed the heavy gate to leave forever that place he had grown to hate in spite of all his efforts to belong.
The manor houses in the street when he set foot in it turned their dark windows to him, their usually blind eyes that all of a sudden could see him all to well. Go away, go away, they said, go away and never come back here, you’re queer, you’re a stranger, you don’t belong, you have got no right to be here anymore. Go away, go away. All of a sudden, he felt small, tiny, powerless, about to be crushed by those stone and marble giants. That was when he heard it, the call, the whisper of the city, the one carried over the roofs, under the tar. Come to me, come feel my pulse instead. I am the maze. I am infinite. My streets will welcome you, my sky will shelter you. I am London, and surely you’ll find a place for yourself, if you keep on searching.
“Yeah... I’ll find it. Someday. I don’t know when, but there must be a place for me somewhere. Isn’t there, you shitty old bloody family house?”
No answer reached him, from behind the windows that had gone blind again. He didn’t care, though. It didn’t matter. He expected nothing from that house any longer. And so Clarence kept walking down the street, not knowing where his steps were leading him, only certain of one single thing: he was free, and whatever lay ahead was his own to seize now, a new beginning in what was to be his life from now on.
I guess I need a new name, too.
Clarence really sucks.
Maybe I should go by my middle name instead? That’s the only part of it I’ve ever liked, after all.
In spite of the crushing fear that kept twisting his innards, in spite of his stomach slowly starting to remind him of its presence, or rather, of its emptiness, the young man looked up at the clear sky above his head, and a genuine smile spread on his lips, fueled now, not by anger, but by a heady feeling of being able at last to walk his own path. It would be hard. It would be painful. It would be lonely, and it might take years for him to find the place that was to be his at last. Yet, for once, it would also be his own choice.
Ewan Riddle.
That sounds a little weird, too.
But it’s a start...
And isn't Chandler just cute? Haha.
MISPLACED (part 2)
Read part 1 here
I can’t smile anymore!
The overwhelming, vivid feeling of sadness and helplessness was so strong that it jerked him awake, eyes wide open on the eerie darkness. For a moment, his gaze kept darting right and left, searching for the old photographs, until he realized at last that he was in his room in his parents’ home, curled up on himself on his bed, with tears in his eyes and a cry stuck in his throat. He didn’t remember falling asleep, nor even undressing, which probably accounted for the fact that he was lying in his clothes on the tangled sheets.
A dream. Yes. That was just a dream. A bloody fucked-up dream. It’s not true. It can’t be true. It can’t happen. I don’t want it to happen. I don’t want that. I can’t take it. I couldn’t smile. I can’t smile. I want to smile. I have to smile!
Then it hit him full force:
I hate it.
I hate that house. I hate that room. I hate that name they gave me. I hate the Book. I hate their stares. I hate their magick and their rituals and their spells and all that shit they want me to learn. I hate the Order. I hate their mages. I hate their theories and their tools. I hate everything about them.
Hate. Hate hate hate hate hate. HATE!
The cry was still here, a cry he was unable to let out, for it would have woken his parents up, would have cast light on him. With a stifled moan, his hand clasped to his mouth, Clarence did not think any longer, hurled himself away from his bed, out in the corridor, then into the bathroom. No sooner had he closed the door than he fell on his knees in front of the toilet bowl and proceeded to throw up-he did not know what, he hadn’t eaten anything in so many hours now, but the spasms were raking his stomach all the same, so strong, so painful. A faint thought came to him-I hope they won't hear me-then vanished as sobs started to shake his body as well, leaving him weak and panting, half collapsed against the cold white enamel. That wasn’t just a dream. It was his worst fears come true, the annihilation of who he was, of his mind, of his own fragile hopes.
Being accepted-means disappearing.
Being myself-is to be rejected.
Being accepted-means losing my smile.
But... but... I don’t want that.
I want to smile. I want to look back on my life and think “that was a nice ride”!
I want to smile!
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, his head between his hands, sitting on the hard tiled floor and rocking back and forth like a young child. Silent tears kept running down his cheeks, unable as he was to stop them, to prevent terror from swallowing him up. There was no way out. That place, that family, that future his father wanted for him, were going to destroy him, to turn him into that sad old man who would one day look at the many pictures of his life and wonder what had been the point, or if there had ever been any to start with.
A grey dawn was already colouring the outline of London’s roofs when Clarence managed to get back on his feet at last, flush out the toilet, and walk back to his room, as silent as a ghost. That’s enough. I can’t do it. I knew it already. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m tired. I-I have to get away from here. I don’t care if it means sleeping in the street again. I don’t care. I can’t stay here. I can’t live like that.
“Clare?”
His thoughts had been whirling in a loop for quite some time when he snapped out of them at last at the sound of Chandler’s whispering voice. The young man noticed that he was kneeling on the floor in his room, a jacket already on his back, cramming clean clothes in his dirty backpack much like he had done less than two weeks ago. That gesture was starting to become quite familiar, wasn’t it?
“What are you doing?”
With a sigh, he slowly turned to his brother, who was staring at him from the doorstep with sleepy eyes; maybe he hadn’t closed the door completely, maybe his earlier trip to the bathroom had woken the boy, maybe-it didn’t matter. For a second, he considered waving him out, telling him to go back to his own room, or to hell, or to wherever else, but that would do him no good. Chandler might just run to their parents’ room in turn. Besides, now that he thought about it, he didn’t really know himself what he was doing.
“Come in. And close that door.” He kept his own voice to a low whisper, hoping his brother would pick up the hint, which he did. Only nodding once as an answer, Chandler obeyed, then came to sit next to him on the rug.
“You’re going away again, Clare.”
“Yeah. Seems so.”
“But you’ve only been back one night!”
“I know.”
“Don’t. Please. Don’t go away.”
Their gazes met, and Clarence saw the tears in his brother’s dark eyes, behind the thick glasses without which the boy couldn’t even see his own feet. They didn’t look like each other at all, really. Glasses put aside, Chan was a younger picture of their father, with the same slick brown hair, square jaw line and thin nose; unlike Arthur Riddle, though, he had no ambition of one day holding an important position in the Order-but maybe that had to do with the fact that he was only twelve and a half, too.
“Don’t go, Clare. Please,” Chandler repeated, getting closer to put his arms around his brother’s neck.
“Aw, come on, you big baby.”
“Please. Stay with us.”
The boy was crying for real now, his sobs only muffled because he had buried his face against Clarence’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“Please...”
“I’m really sorry. I just-can’t do that.”
“But Daddy was so angry!”
“I know. And I’m probably going to take piss in a couple of hours if I don’t go now.”
“But I don’t want you to go away! I missed you!”
The young man felt a sad little smile spread on his lips-well, that was a smile, at least, even if not the one he had wished for. Chandler would be the only one he’d truly miss as well, the only one who had expressed awe at what he could do with his calculator, the only one who had ever believed in him and in his abilities, not caring the least bit about whether they were techno-magic or proper spells.
“Want to know a secret, Chan?” he asked, reciprocating his brother’s warm embrace.
“Wh-what?”
“I missed you too. And I’m going to miss you again, for sure.”
“Then don’t go!”
“Chan. Look at me.”
“Dont’ go!”
“Look at me, please.”
The boy obeyed at last. Watch me. Look at me. Look at who I am. Can you see me? The real me? Can you see the person, and not only the image our parents have formed of me?
“Tell me. Tell me what you see.”
“Clare?”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. Just tell me.”
“I-I see you?”
“And?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who am I, Chandler? Please. Tell me what you see. Tell me who I am. Because I don’t know anymore.”
Clarence watched him furrow his brow, trying to make sense of those strange words. His own smile had already vanished, replaced by what he feared was the same expression of anguish he had wore in the police car, the previous evening, as the dreadful prospect of facing Arthur once again had loomed nearer and nearer.
“You’re my brother, of course,” Chandler answered at last, still in a whisper, perplexity all over his features.
“Yeah. That’s a start, I suppose.”
“Clare, are you really going away?”
The young man cast a quick glance at his bag already packed, and sighed again:
“I... I don’t know. I feel I have to. I can’t... Oh, no, please, don’t start crying again, you’re gonna wake them up and-”
“And then you won’t go!”
“No, Chan... Please. Stop, now!”
“Promise you won’t go!”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then I’m going to tell Daddy.”
“No! You can’t!”
“Yes, I can! And I will! Because it’s awful when you’re not here! It’s even worse than usual!”
Clarence froze, his hand on his brother’s wrist to prevent him from getting up and running to their parents. What the hell? Did he really say that? Did he? Did he did he did he?
“So that’s why you want me to stay, huh? So that you and Christina can be left alone while I take all the piss!”
“No! I want you to stay because you’re my brother and you belong here! That’s why!”
“Oh come on, you don’t care, do you? You don’t care about me. You don’t care that he treats me like shit.”
“That’s not true!”
“The hell with you! I can’t take it anymore, can’t you see that? Can’t you see how he scares the shit out of me? I’m fucking tired of being treated like this! Come on! Can’t you see that I’m fucking dying in here? I don’t belong here at all!”
As soon as he had let these words out, he knew he had raised his voice, committed that terrible mistake. Immediately, he fell silent, motioned to his brother to stop talking too, and perhaps there was something peculiar on his face at that moment, for Chandler remained where he was, his mouth agape, unable to voice out what he had wanted to retort. Clarence closed his eyes for a few seconds, aware of the noise in their parents’ room. He had to run away, right now, or it would be too late. He had to grab his bag, push his brother away, get out of the house, step out using the window-sill, whatever-but to get away, once and for all, because when Arthur would find out, then it would be the worst, it would be a hell he had never known yet, and the fear would swallow him whole, prevent him from standing up.
Shit. Shit shit shitshitshit.
Get up. Get up! Now!
His legs wouldn’t obey, though. He remained where he was, unable to move, looking at his trembling hands, all too conscious of a door opening, of the light being switched on in the corridor, of footsteps, and then of his own door creaking, letting in that flow of light as well Arthur’s shadow.
“What on Earth is that din? And at five in the morning at that?”
Chandler, please. Don’t tell. Don’t tell.
“Daddy, Clarence says he wants to go away again! Tell him he has to stay here-please,” he hastily added. “Tell him, Daddy!”
...Shit.
“Really?”
He knew that cold edge in his father’s voice. That was anger, anger of the worst kind, anger that would paralyze him for days, turn him into an obedient boy who wouldn’t dare speak up anymore, withering under a single stare. He kept staring at his hands, at his knees, at the rug of his bedroom, at the long shadow invading it. He couldn’t look at his father. He couldn’t stand up. He couldn’t resist.
“I see you haven’t been reflecting on your behaviour, Clarence.”
Arthur Riddle stepped into the room at last. No matter that he was in his pyjamas, he was just as hieratic and imposing as ever, his wiry silhouette a pillar of inner strength and determination. The young man closed his eyes again, biting his lower lip to the blood, not realizing that he had clenched his fists and was waiting for a slap or, worse, for reproaches and belittling words.
“Your mother had persuaded me to wait until this morning to have a good talk with you. Well, it seems we need to have it now. So. Is it true? Do you really want to go away?”
He remained silent, his mouth filled with the iron taste of his own blood. His voice wouldn’t get out.
I can’t. I knew it. I can’t do anything when he’s here. When he’s speaking to me. I’m scared. I’m scared. He’s going to put me down again. He’s going to say in such precise words what a failure I am, and how ashamed of me he is. I don’t want to hear this. He’s going to tear me apart. I’m shit. I don’t deserve to be called a Riddle. I shouldn’t even be born in this family. I don’t deserve it. I’m shit. I’m not worth his praise. I’ve never been. I’ll never be. He’ll never acknowledge me. I’ve always known it. What was I expecting? I’m shit.
“I’m waiting for your answer. Is it true?”
Clarence gave a start. His throat felt parched, so constricted by fear that it hurt, that just swallowing was pain in itself. I have to speak up. Speak up, you idiot! Speak up. Tell him. Tell him!
“Well, since you’re not saying anything, it must mean you weren’t serious about that, were you? And so you woke up the whole household on a mere whim, didn’t you?”
Speak up. Speak up. I must. I must tell him. I must. I never said anything. I never raised my voice. I was always nice and obedient. I always tried hard. I always did my best. I only wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to-
Don’t. Don’t think it! Don’t-
I only wanted my father to love me for who I was. But this won’t happen. This will never happen. Because I’m shit. I’m not the son he wanted to have. I’m a failure.
Something deep inside him broke and shattered, just like the glass of the pictures in his nightmare. For a second, Clarence thought he was going to burst into tears, but then nothing happened. There were no tears to be shed. He had known that for a long time already; this was just the logical conclusion.
“I... I...”
“Ah, so you do have a voice. Well. I’m still waiting.”
I have to tell him. I have to!
“I... I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“Do what? Explain yourself.”
“Everything. All of this. The Book. The apprenticeship. I don’t want it anymore.”
His words sounded weird to his ears, uttered in a quivering voice that wasn’t like his usual one. Without even noticing, he had grabbed one of his bag’s straps in his hand, squeezing hard, in an attempt to find in himself enough courage to talk. On his desk, the dark shape of the Book seemed to taunt him, make fun of him, point at all his deficiencies, at everything his father wanted him to do, and that he would never be able to achieve no matter his efforts.
“Well. Does this mean you want to give up?”
“I’m-I’m not giving up on anything. I’m just saying I-I want to do it my way. N-not yours.”
“There is only one way, Clarence, and it’s the Order’s. It’s the way the Riddles have been pursuing for generations. Are you saying you’re rejecting this?”
“It’s not my way. I tried. I couldn’t do it. But-but I can do magick differently!”
“Are you rejecting our way?”
“I’m just saying it’s not mine, that’s al-”
“Because if you’re rejecting it, then you’re clearly not one of us.”
For the whole conversation, Clarence hadn’t looked up once, hadn’t dared meet his father’s eyes, knowing full well that were he to do so, the little courage he had mustered would desert him. Something in Arthur’s voice decided him to raise his head nonetheless. The gaze he faced was utterly cold, putting him at such a distance that he suddenly felt that he was not standing in his room, but far, far away from the Riddles’ house, estranged from it not only in feeling, but also in space.
“I’m not saying it’s bad, Daddy! Just that it’s not-”
“What you’re saying, Clarence, is that you don’t want to be part of us.”
“...Why does it always have to be about that!”
“I’ll be honest with you. I’m growing really tired of your ill will and of your rebellious attitude. This must stop, and it’s going to stop right now.”
“Ill will? I busted my ass off on this fucking Book for three years, and you call that ill will?”
“The mere fact that you ran away once again shows how little our family matters to you.”
“I ran away because-because-”
“Because you’re weak. Because you’re still too young to understand. I’ve been patient with you, Clarence, very patient. I’ve been willing to give you time. But you’re clearly not even trying.”
“I am trying! I tried! I still am! Why don’t you see it’s just not working for me?”
“Just try harder, then. Or go away for good.”
The young man was about to retort, when this last sentence cut him short, filling him with apprehension, sending a cold shiver down his spine.
“...What?”
“You heard me right. If you can’t accept our guidance, then go away.”
Now that’s something new...
“I thought you were angry because I ran away...”
“Indeed, I was. But you’ve been nothing but trouble for the past three years. So I’m going to present you with a choice.”
“A choice?”
“Beware, though, that I’ll only offer it once. After that, it’s over.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“Apologize. Right now. Apologize for your misconduct and for your poor work, and start studying seriously, so that I can introduce you formerly to the Order when you turn sixteen.”
...What?
Why should I apologize? I haven’t done anything wrong!
Why should I apologize, when I’m the one who’re so unhappy!
“You... You want me to...”
“Have you grown deaf on top of behaving like an idiot? If you apologize sincerely, I may consider chalking all of this up to your fears and weaknesses, and let you start over.”
“If... If I apologize...” He had to pause for a second to swallow, before being able to go on: “If... Well... Does it mean you’ll go on teaching me?”
“Of course I will. I won’t let you turn into anything else than a respectable member of the Order. Although it will probably take more than just a few years, in your case. You clearly have to put much more effort in it than you’ve done so far.”
“And... if I don’t?”
“Then I don’t want to see your face ever again.”
There was a heavy silence pregnant with tension and hostility.
I can’t believe it.
Is my father supposed to tell me something like this?
“...You’ll let me go, then?”
“Let you go? No, Clarence. I will personally throw you out of this house, and make sure that you never set foot in it, nor see any member of this family again. Actually, I’ll make sure your name won’t sully our Family Tree any longer. If you want to go away so badly, then you’re on your own for good. I will do what it takes to remove you from my custody.”
“That’s-”
“You’ve got one hour to decide. I’ll be waiting in my study.”
As if the whole scene was just but a continuation of his nightmare, he watched helplessly as his father turned his back on him to walk out of the room, ordering away Chandler, who was still looking at them from the doorstep. A muffled voice rose a few seconds later-probably his mother’s, from his parents’ bedroom, asking what had just happened. He didn’t hear Arthur’s answer; maybe there hadn’t been any.
Clarence remained on his knees for a long moment, a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Now he had done it. Now he had really angered Arthur Riddle, to the point of being given an ultimatum. If he thought he had known fear before, it was nothing compared to what was growing in him now.
He won’t do that. He won’t.
Really?
He can’t just erase me from the Family Tree.
That’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong!
No. He’s Arthur Riddle. He can do anything he likes in this family. Nobody will dare stand up to him.
The Family Tree. The one that had been in the house for ages, property of Arthur’s father, and of his own father before that, and of their whole line of male ancestors. The old tapestry hung in Arthur’s office, carefully shielded from the eyes of those who weren’t privy to the secrets of magic, yet there to display to their less mundane friends, colleagues and acquaintances. That thing should have fallen prey to mould a long time ago, were it not for the heavy layers of spells that maintained it in its never changing state. At a simple Word from the current family’s head, it mirrored every wedding and every birth, adding people to the Tree, and it didn’t seem that space would ever be constrained on that piece of cloth, even though the main branch of the Riddles went back to the Norman conquest. Yet with a simple Word, too, Arthur could remove someone from it, severing his or her bond with the family on the level of enchanted ties. That powerful symbol of authority had prevented more than one member from voicing out criticism and concerns, for being deleted from the Tree also meant not getting any support from any of the other Riddles. It was like being branded a traitor, cast off as the proverbial black sheep, utterly and forever rejected.
He won’t! He won’t dare! He can’t do that! I’m his son, dammit! He can’t do that!
...No. He may very well do it. He’s really furious now. He will do it.
Mummy won’t let him. Will she?
He won’t do it. He’s bluffing. He wants to scare me.
But what if he’s serious about it?
Do I really have a choice here?
This was indeed a nightmare, and now he couldn’t stop his thoughts from dancing a mad ballet in his mind put to agony.
I want to go away, but... but... can I pay such a price?
But if I stay, I won’t be able to smile. I’ll lose my smile. I can already feel it disappearing. How long since I haven’t really laughed? You can’t laugh in here. It’s not proper. You can’t.
Will he do it?
He won’t. It’s all a bluff.
Oh, no, it’s not. I know him. He’s really able to do that to me.
So this means I have to stay...
Shit, why does it hurt so much? Why is it so hard?
Clarence took a deep breath, buried his face in his hands, then breathed out, slowly, in an attempt to calm down. Images from his dream were coming back to haunt him-the many frames; his own old, wrinkled, tired face; the fact that nobody on those pictures was smiling-and they just made it harder to focus.
If I go, then I’ll be-nothing. Nothing at all.
Another deep breath. Arthur Riddle was probably on his way to his study, now, having gotten dressed in the meantime. On his way, or maybe already waiting for him?
If I stay, I’ll just rot and die inside. I’ll turn into... into...
...into my father, who never smiles either...
Soon, Clarence would have to face him, and there was no way he could escape that. So he had to keep a clear mind. He couldn’t let fear only dictate his moves nor his decision.
He thought of Arthur’s study and of the huge tapestry hanging from its eastern wall, so large now that it covered the latter’s surface almost completely these days. When he was younger, he had always wondered what were those black spots at the ends of some of the Tree’s branches; his father wouldn’t answer, and his mother had made it clear that those were names that mustn’t be spoken of. At the time, there were only two boys at the end of their own side of the Tree-that was where he had learnt to read his own name as well as Chandler’s. Then Christina was born, and all of a sudden, her name appeared on the fabric as well. Only much later did he understand what the black burns meant. Only now did he realize that soon, his own branch might be crossed out as well.
Will he forbid Chandler to see me?
Actually, will Chandler forget about me, if my Name vanishes from the cloth?
And if I leave, I... I’ll never have anywhere to go back to...
It was a little over six o’clock when Clarence managed to get back on his feet at last, so weak at the knees, though, that he had to lean on the corner of his desk to steady himself before taking a step towards the door. Worry and conflicting thoughts had only made his queasiness worse; he hadn’t let go of his bag, clutching at it to give himself enough resolve to face what was about to happen. The lump in his throat kept on growing as he hobbled down the stairs on his way to his father’s study. Now he knew that whatever he chose, he would come to regret it soon.
The young man knocked at the door, then pushed it open. Arthur was waiting for him, as expected, sitting at his dark heavy desk, his back to the large tapestry. The suit he had donned was of light grey cotton and linen, its colour adding to the overall aloof attitude of its wearer. His eyes were cold and harsh; his narrow face expressed nothing but the uttermost contempt. Immediately, Clarence felt as if he was six years old again, and about to be scolded for some mischief.
I can’t. It’s just as usual. I can’t. I can’t speak to him. I’m scared.
“Close that door.”
He obeyed without a word. All his determination, all the strength he had managed to gather, were already crumbling down. Arthur didn’t offer him a seat, didn’t allow him to do anything but stand in front of the desk, waiting for judgment to be passed on him.
“I gather you’ve thought about it.”
“Y-yes, I have.”
“I gather you’ve realized by now where your interests lie.”
He only lowered his head, unable to answer anything for now. If this goes on, I’m going to throw up.
“Fine. You’ve come to your senses at last. The Masters of the Art will want to see you in September, to assess your progress. Unfortunately, it won’t be much, but I can’t delay that more. It’s three years already you’ve started training. So I’ll have you study as much as possible in the upcoming weeks.”
“Daddy-”
“Don’t you dare interrupt me. Starting from today, I want you to revise the contents of the whole Book, and work on first level Naming rituals until you manage to perform three of them. You’ll spend the whole night on it if needed. I won’t let you idle about.”
Oh God. I can’t. This is too hard.
He closed his eyes, not listening anymore. He already knew this by heart anyway. How much of a failure he was. How he ought to be ashamed of his poor results, whereas Chandler, who was barely awakened to the Power, could already complete part of the very first Naming Chants. How insignificant his efforts, how little he worked, his mind busy with technological trifles that had no place in the family, and by the way, getting a computer was absolutely out of the question, he would have to perform his school work the traditional way, too.
“... And so, I expect you’re ready to apologize now.”
“What?”
That last sentence caused something to flare up in him, all of a sudden, and brought him back to reality.
“Don’t tell me that you weren’t listening? This is wrong, Clarence. Clearly, you can’t have been thinking enough, if you’re already taking such a bad start.”
“Hey, Daddy...”
What was it? What was the name of that feeling? It wasn’t fear. It was something else altogether.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop. Interrupting. Me.”
“Daddy, don’t you think you’re the one who’s wrong?”
Hey! What am I doing?
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t you think you’re the one who should apologize?”
The young man saw Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly-he saw it quite well, for he was staring at him now, his hands clenched again in trembling fists. He remembered. That wasn’t fear anymore. That was anger. Anger he hadn’t felt in a long time. Anger so strong that it was sweeping away all reason, all sense of caution. Yes. He too was capable of anger.
“That’s enough. You-”
“Because I don’t think I deserve to be talked to like this, you see. I don’t think I deserve being called a disappointment and a failure by a man who can’t even treat his own children properly.”
Oh shit. What am I saying? What am I doing?
He’s going to-
No. No, it’s fine. I’ve wanted to say that to him for ages. I might as well finish now.
“Clarence Ewan Riddle! Don’t you dare speaking-”
“Oh yes, I dare!”
And before he knew it, he had already slammed his fist onto the desk, really sustaining his father’s gaze for the first time in his life. It was too late anyway. Now wasn’t even the point of turning back; that point had been reached long ago, at a moment when he hadn’t even noticed it, but that had kept poisoning him since then.
“You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted to speak. You don’t know how much I hate you, and that fucking house, and everything about you and the fucking Order! What kind of shitty father tells his kid that he’s useless anyway? Only a fucking moron would stand that, right? Would you stand it? Would you?”
With each sentence, we each question, he kept on pounding the wooden desk, not caring anymore about the consequences, not even paying attention the the pain that flared in his hand and wrist each time. It’s too late. It has always been too late. Why should I care about not being able to come back? It’s not like I’m really wanted here anyway. It’s not like he wants me. He only wants some perfect son he can flaunt to his colleagues. And I’m clearly not the one!
Arthur got up at last from his armchair, in a slow, dignified move. Oh yes, that’s true. He won’t stoop down to actually showing any feeling. Especially not to me. Hey, Daddy, look! I’m almost as tall as you now. You’re not so big and mighty, after all. It’s just that I’ve always kept my eyes down.
“This is absolutely unacceptable. I won’t let you spout such obscenities any longer. Not as long as you’re under my roof.”
“Then you’re going to be relieved, because I’ve made my decision, and I’m out of here!”
Yes. That’s it. I’m not a child anymore. I’ll be sixteen in September. I guess I can find work. I’ve seen quite some places when I was on the street. Maybe at Camden Town? I’m sure I can find something. It’s okay. I’ll be alright. If he really throws me out, I can do it. I’ve already picked a few tricks. I can do it. Everything will be fine. Since I’ll be able to smile again.
“Did I hear you right?”
“Sure you did. Wasn’t it part of that fucking choice of yours? Come on, face it. You don’t want me here. Even right now, I can see I’m an eyesore to you.”
“I remember telling you it was a one-time choice only.”
“Yeah. I’m not so stupid that I didn’t get that part, you know.”
They kept staring at each other. How odd. He was still afraid, but fear wouldn’t paralyze him anymore now. For the first time in his life, he had dared speak up, and the world hadn’t crumbled around him to bury him immediately. Arthur would get rid of him-that was fine. He would be alone, without any place to go to-that was fine as well: wasn’t he the one who had wanted out anyway?
For the first time, too-perhaps because this specific situation had never arisen before-Clarence realised that he wasn’t the only one to be afraid of this confrontation’s outcome.
Actually, he had never considered that choice.
He thought I’d cower and meekly apologize.
He thought I’d abide to all his demands without a word.
And now he can’t back out of it anymore!
However, neither could he.
If I give in... if I show him how frightened I really am... then it’s over. I’ll never be free. I’ll never be able to-to live a life of my own.
Hey, Daddy, is that what you truly expected? So that you could throw me out without feeling guilty? Or did you hope that I’d just be my usual coward self?
So I really can’t step back now.
None of us can.
His decision made and settled, Clarence spoke again:
“Do it. Burn my name on the tapestry. I don’t care anymore. I was never a true Riddle to start with.”
“Clarence-”
“Don’t call me by this name. You can take it back. I don’t want it anymore. It sucks balls. You should’ve thought twice before naming me. Same goes for Chandler, by the way. So. Why aren’t you doing it? Why is my name still there?”
“Get out of here. Pack your bag and get out, or I’ll make you.”
“Oh, don’t bother throwing me out. I’ll go by myself. It’s my choice, right?”
“You shall not get anything from us any more. Do you understand that?”
“Sure. Didn’t I tell you I’m not such an idiot?”
“No money. No support. No food. Nothing! And as soon as you’re out, I’m phoning Trelawney and Fogg to have you formerly emancipated in court. I don’t care what it takes, but I shall have nothing to do with you anymore, officially as well as officiously. Is that clear?”
“Cristal clear. Bye, then.”
I’m not backing off. I’m not giving you that pleasure. Take your fucking family pride and shove it where the sun never shines, and go to fucking hell, while you’re at it.
The young man swung his bag over his shoulder, turned on his heels, and walked out of his father’s study with his head held high, although his hands were shaking in both fear and excitement. No sooner had he crossed the threshold that his mind went into wild circles again, thoughts spiralling and crashing one into the other. Oh shit. Oh shitohshit. I did it. I’m crazy. Bloody crazy. I shouldn’t have done it. No, that was the right decision. It’s best. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. I want out. I need out. I don’t want to go on rotting in here. I want out!
He didn’t even remember what he had already packed, but it didn’t matter now, because he was not climbing back the stairs to his room to check. What mattered was already in it, anyway-his calculator, of most things, the one tool he knew he could use well to perform magick. As he was passing by the kitchen’s door, he realized that he hadn’t any money left in his wallet, that he wouldn’t be able to afford food, and that he still hadn’t eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours-yet even that didn’t matter for now. What fueled him and his resolve was anger. The rest wasn’t important anymore.
He only paused for a minute to grab a pair of shoes and tie them. Arthur hadn’t followed him; probably he would only brief the rest of the family after his elder son had gone out for good. Fuck. I should’ve said goodbye to Chandler, at least. That sucks. I’m sorry, Chan. I just hope they won’t tell you any lies about me.
He unlocked the entrance door, turned the knob to open it on the front garden. It would be one of those mild-weathered July days, warm and nice overall, yet sometimes cloudy with a chance of rain. Would any of the neighbours see him walk down the street? Would they whisper in his parents’ back in turn, shake their heads in contempt, typical, typical, you’d think that family was perfect, yet look at what delinquent they were harbouring under their roof...
Well, why do I care? I’m not one of them anymore.
The young man walked down the few stone steps leading to the pathway, and from there to the wrought-iron gate. There still wasn’t any noise behind him. His father wouldn’t even bother seeing him off, indeed. Nor would his mother. Christina might be still asleep, and Chandler too frightened of their parents to dare do anything. Fine. It was a new start of sorts. Now he was on his own. Now he was free.
“Clare!Wait!”
He froze for a second, then half turned towards the door again. There was Chandler, his cheeks wet with tears, running barefoot down the stairs too, to catch up to him.
“Y-you’re really going away, then?” the boy whispered between two sobs, when at last they were face to face.
“As you can see.”
“I-I heard you. From the corridor. When you were w-with D-daddy.”
“Don’t let him find you here, or-”
“Clare, y-you’ll never come back, right? I-I’ll never see you again...”
He could only shake his head. Being able to talk to Chandler one last time made him feel better, yet at the same time, it also hurt. It would only erode his resolve, while comforting him in the certainty that there was no way back, no more time to be spent with him. They had had their disagreements, like all brothers, and he had played his share of tricks on the boy-that time he had put snow inside Chandler’s shirt in winter in the schoolyard, or the day they had sneaked together in the basement to find out if there really were secret passageways, and he had let him locked in a closet for half an hour while making him believe it was magick... But all in all, it had been nice. Chandler had been the only one in their family who made him smile, during those past few months.
Shit. If I keep staring at him, I’ll just bawl my eyes out, too.
So Clarence leant towards him and hugged him strongly, briefly, just once-also to give himself the few seconds he needed to swallow back his own tears.
“I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sorry.”
“I promise, Clare. When I’m grown up. When I can do what I want. I’ll come looking for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
“I promise! I won’t forget about you.”
He couldn’t help but smile, if only for a second. Their father would never allow it, but letting his brother dream about that couldn’t do any harm, could it?
“Fine, fine. You find me. I’m sure I’ll be around... somehow.”
“Promise?”
“Go, now. Go back home, before he comes looking for you.”
“T-then take this.”
He felt Chandler slide something in his hand. A crumpled bank note-probably from his brother’s pocket money.
“Chan, I can’t-”
“Take it. Y-you don’t have anything, right? Take it. I-It’s not much, but you d-don’t have anything at all now... right?”
Before he could do or say anything, the boy had torn himself away from their embrace, to run back towards the door, towards the house, towards their father who might be approaching in order to make sure that black sheep of a discarded son had indeed gone away for good.
For a minute or so, Clarence stood where he was, unable to move-neither to go back nor go forward. That hurt. That really, bloody hurt. The note felt like fire in his palm, but he could not push himself to throw it away. Chandler was right. He didn’t have anything at all, and he had eaten so little in the past days that if he wasn’t careful, he’d start feeling dizzy pretty soon, maybe even collapse. He couldn’t afford that, not now, not when he had to go on no matter what.
“Fine. Fine,” he muttered, for himself mostly, since no one else was there to hear him. “The day we’re both adults. I’ll make sure I’m still around. That’s a promise.”
With a sigh, Clarence Riddle turned on his heels, resuming his walk, and pushed the heavy gate to leave forever that place he had grown to hate in spite of all his efforts to belong.
The manor houses in the street when he set foot in it turned their dark windows to him, their usually blind eyes that all of a sudden could see him all to well. Go away, go away, they said, go away and never come back here, you’re queer, you’re a stranger, you don’t belong, you have got no right to be here anymore. Go away, go away. All of a sudden, he felt small, tiny, powerless, about to be crushed by those stone and marble giants. That was when he heard it, the call, the whisper of the city, the one carried over the roofs, under the tar. Come to me, come feel my pulse instead. I am the maze. I am infinite. My streets will welcome you, my sky will shelter you. I am London, and surely you’ll find a place for yourself, if you keep on searching.
“Yeah... I’ll find it. Someday. I don’t know when, but there must be a place for me somewhere. Isn’t there, you shitty old bloody family house?”
No answer reached him, from behind the windows that had gone blind again. He didn’t care, though. It didn’t matter. He expected nothing from that house any longer. And so Clarence kept walking down the street, not knowing where his steps were leading him, only certain of one single thing: he was free, and whatever lay ahead was his own to seize now, a new beginning in what was to be his life from now on.
I guess I need a new name, too.
Clarence really sucks.
Maybe I should go by my middle name instead? That’s the only part of it I’ve ever liked, after all.
In spite of the crushing fear that kept twisting his innards, in spite of his stomach slowly starting to remind him of its presence, or rather, of its emptiness, the young man looked up at the clear sky above his head, and a genuine smile spread on his lips, fueled now, not by anger, but by a heady feeling of being able at last to walk his own path. It would be hard. It would be painful. It would be lonely, and it might take years for him to find the place that was to be his at last. Yet, for once, it would also be his own choice.
Ewan Riddle.
That sounds a little weird, too.
But it’s a start...